Lethargy
by maleV
Summary: Time well spent. Nivanfield.


**I was enjoying a pleasant dream and couldn't help but share.**

* * *

Drawing a drag off yet another Marlboro Red, gruff countenance raised, jawline cant upward as the broad built Adonis leaned halfway at the waist, weight upon firm forearms, holding in a bellowing breath before releasing the smoky poison from acrid filled lungs, the balance of cool from the night air, and heat form the musty room behind created a balmy sweat to cling to individual muscles. Chuckling under bated breath, the back of a hand brushed against chocolate stubble, scratching the fleshy backside of a massive mitt with that five o'clock shadow grown in, coddling the stick of poison that left charred marks along the window frame with a daft tap. Another intake of nicotine, and exhale through the nostrils, watching the snaking smoke with his jaded gaze before firmly tapping out the cherry embers upon the wooden sill, lifting a coarse hand to brush against the back of his thick neck. "Made you tap out that easily? I was just getting warmed up." Baritone thrummed in the barrel chest of the nude captain, hardened muscles glimmering in the moonlight from the sheen of sweat that covered such statuesque form, a sight to behold without modesty nor fear. The broad flesh, expanded with every breath, all velvet coated with bruises and battle scars from the wars that created dips and valleys to behold, all trailing ever downward to that thick muscling, the sexy V that led to the impressive girth that lay betwixt colossal thighs. It wasn't their first time that night; certainly wasn't the last. There was a constant breath of fresh air filtering in through the open windows, cascading open curtains into that awe inspiring form, in a way that almost made him loath the nicotine habit that the Captain had seemingly acquired overnight; or over the span of the last twenty years in the field, stemming from the days after his 'departure' from the U.S. Airforce. Thinking back on it, twenty fucking years, was just about as long as the man splayed out asleep on the motel bed he'd rented, had even spent living on this God-forsaken planet, worse off now than it had been when he was that age. The politics had always been the same, but the people dying for a good cause were not. "What happened to that so-called endurance you go on about?" Casting a glance over his shoulder, he watched the cool of sheets bunch beneath the figure who lie on his taut abdominal muscles, drawing a wickedly devilish smile across older visage while the hand clutching the cigarette tapped his fingertips against the pad of his thick thumb, miming a jabbering mouth. Seeing the shadow of his own form embrace the peachy flesh that peeked out from under the rumpled coverings, and that lean muscled back, carved from a decade of training exercises rising and falling with each heavy breath. Shifting beneath the weight of his stare, a tenor groan lofted, legs shifting against the cotton sheets and peeling them away ever slowly to reveal more and more sumptuously lush meat, interrupted by the sudden addition of large hand that took hold of a tan backside with a loud smack of flesh against flesh, those full cheeks he'd enjoyed stuffing minutes earlier until the kid damn near blacked out, completely encompassed in one single grip. Piers' exhausted easy, used all his energy like the rookie boy he was, that there was nothing left for round three. Chuckling shamelessly, Chris squeezed again, digits digging into the nook of flesh between his thigh and ass, before rubbing a calloused palm against that rounded cheek, juicy sweet. Damn, he could bury himself in that body all night long until he hit drywall. Would. It was better than living in the outside world, where everything was never good enough and they expected you to give every last drop of blood for the cause. Better to enjoy a whiskey in one hand, and a smoke in the other, looking down on that sweet young body he'd claimed for his own.

Giving another grope, the crystalline glass that sit on the bedside table magically found itself into nimble fingers, taking a sluggish swig and letting it burn all the way down while thick veins within his muscled throat could be seen, before resting the cool of the base of it dead against Piers' lower back, using the kid as a table. "That glass stays where it is." The ice clinked, a contented inhale through bruised plush lips, darkened flesh from the abuse of the night's revelry on top of those most desirable dark tiers. It was moments like these he truly enjoyed. Getting a decent night of pure lethargy in enjoying himself in every and any orifice he pleased until the good fight was worth it again. The fiery flick of a cheap bic lighter caught yet another stick of ash, lighting up his rugged countenance for a few seconds before being shadowed by the night, sucking in deep breaths before lowering firm lips to that sweet inner thigh of exposed tissue, teasing the area by nestling his scruffy chin against the sensitive flesh. Sweat greeted the taste buds, warm heat flooding from his mouth onto that slick limb coated in other fluids he ignored; earning a pleased hum, throaty and rasped from hours of the sensual torment they both had undergone. Sucking, he felt the lithe being beneath him urge to shift, taking another handful of backside the cigarette in hand dropping cinders where his hand came to rest; and raising his mouth, gave a disciplinary slap. "A single drop of that whiskey goes to waste," Chris' commanding tone spilled across fleshy mounds serious despite their situation, "and I'll be damned sure that ass is wasted by the time you try and walk." Lips parted again, starting first with a flick of the tongue the tip prodding the lax body, tasting the olive skin, sucking successively with each lap of flesh. Flattening that slick and powerful muscle against the reddening hand print, bringing silent gasps from that sleeping mind, purrs that resonated in the chest and made the captain ever more eager. Still the point was to be slow, enjoy the moment, the... _taste_. Shivers rose, and then the goosebumps began to spread, feeling those tactile fixations with a moist suckle. "Tasty." Growling, teeth nipped the heated print, raking them along that lanky limb to the junction where his backside met thigh muscle, darting out a deviously talented tongue to lave the muscle; rubbing scruff on the smooth limb, hearing the uncomfortable grumble of discontent and rather than ceasing, repeated the motion a second time slower, tongue dipping just between of those sweet cheeks for a taste and back again, noting the gasp. A calloused thumb rubbed circles against that rounded ass, taking hold of him and gripping tighter the longer he tasted that warmth, the tongue tip dragging viciously against the curvature, groping and gripping with all the ownership that belonged to him; pads rasping against the side of smooth skin. "_Pop_ that ass, Nivans. That's what I'm talking about."

"Fucking insatiable..." The first words in the last half hour other than uncharacteristic hums and grunts, face nuzzled into the pillow further as more demanding kisses and bites suddenly assaulted those perfectly wrought legs; the words muffled as sleep threatened to tug shut heavy lids yet again. Sinking white enamel teeth against tightened flesh that in an attempt to make the boy jerk his body, possibly drop the glass precariously placed on his spine; watching it rock with every nibble and suckle. A slurp of wet saliva against that fine form accented by the suction that left tissue bruising from such violent treatment, purpling reddish hue spread not by the slap to the flesh, but rather the hickeys slathering those relaxed thighs. Soft moaning soon joined the slurp and slur of Chris' voice, prodding those legs further apart to accommodate the Captain's broad build, raising his head once to reach forward and claim the glass, swallowing a burning mouthful of amber fluid; exasperated pleasure in the tone of his groan, lolling it about on tongue and throat, mahogany eyes flooding shut at the mingling flavors that tasted of such perfection, palm pinning his subject of torture to the bed. The ruffling sound of the sniper's face, buried in further toward the mounded pillows, clutching them with hugged arms with a gasp as fingers distracted from his busy tongue taking in liquids, enjoying running the length of such a tantalizing body. "Captain..."

Such a croon. Sleep thick pleas, of slowly the sniper to wakefulness, each made with a dry throated groan. Glass returned in place, Chris couldn't help forming the deep throated chuckle from the stilled tremor of the sniper's form, tracing the defined muscles of Piers' body. "Haven't finished with you by a long shot, sniper. Rise and shine for daddy." These were the kinds of night. He'd give him a break between fucks, tease him back up and let him hang while Chris enjoyed a drink, a smoke. He could do this all night long. Pretty little twenty odd year old perfectionist resorting to purrs and pleas, hell yes. Traveling firm touches teased each crevice and valley of that form, the backs of knees up the quadriceps, to that backside he enjoyed too much, and traversing a finger through the fluids that were beginning to dry sticky against him, letting it stick in the fingers, moving up those muscled hips, pushing them down firmly as lips pursed to place a kiss against them before coming with a shove of biceps and forearms built thicker than a man's calf to pull his weight up until seated just over those hips, plucking up the glass, on his knees and straddling. Drowning in the sultry fluids, a hardened slap earned a grimace, pulling thinner lips into a pleased form, sloshing down the final fluids. Golden flecked, enamoring hazel eyes, hooded with hidden lust brought attention to themselves, dark rimmed and piercing those eyes, even pushed their, a certain insecurity laced those vicious orbs, taking in the sight over lean shoulders. Carrying on down that half hidden face, those eyes lit with a smile, full lips tugging to a curl at the corner, chapped from the smoky ash in the air, making them appear all the more enticing. A scoff, before rousing to bare feet, taking the cigarette half burned from the bedside table. Sucking in a breath that set ribbons of smoke into the room, the captain of the well renown B.S.A.A. gazed out the window, hearing the shift of limbs. "About time, wouldn't want you missing a shot. Turn the hell over." Leaning back on the sill, Chris' whole form was visible from the bed, every mounding muscle as he waited for his commands to be followed, greeting and maintaining the crucial stare at his prize. "Double time, soldier."

All the fire in those eyes translated just as well, putting on the unending show of adoration and those quirks of resilient fight. Easily said, compared to done. That boy had passion. Fuck did he ever. You didn't earn a place in S.O.U. Alpha without having the skills, but it took more than skills, it took resolution, it took that fire. Piers had more than that though, he had conviction, a certain teasing bravado. It never left him, and Chris could remember having those same feelings long ago. They penetrated his soul... Fuck that. There was a time for admiring, and a time for a pure unadulterated fuck; that pansy shit could be saved for later, right now there was only one thing he wanted. "Here." Refilling the vessel with another swallow of Wild Turkey, the glass was thrust outward, a slight jostle to make the ice clank side to side; though a hand raised in decline, causing a roll of the eyes. "This isn't the boyscouts, soldier." Slugging it back, he watching Piers finally turn himself over, like a cat in the sun, taking his time as he stretched out his arms and let them fall at rest beside his face. Languishing in the sight, he watched those perfectly sculpted brows arched, long legs bending at the knee until one bent up, the other splayed out like an invitation, shoving away the blanket that had covered him until it slid completely off the end of the bed, revealing every inch of skin. Heavy eyes wandered, taking in the sight of every taut muscle; as long trigger fingers walked their way across that carved body to dip into Piers' naval, trailing down the fine tawny hairs, catching sight of already bruising hips, Chris' own powerful groping the culprit. A fine sight, seeing all the evidence from the last round clinging to the sniper's fine musculature, eyes settling on the evidence that the younger man had finally caught up with him in his own obvious arousal. His body wasn't small by any means, the idea of explaining Piers as lithe, or lean, was the truth, though he was physically built like a man fully capable in the field of their expertise, but in comparison to Chris? He was fucking petite. When their bodies meshed, he was nothing more than a light weight that Chris could toss down face first in the cheap mattress, and encompass his entire lower back with one hand. Perhaps that's what made him all the more inviting, since unlike those pencil sized women, Piers put up a fight, and made sure that he had something to give for all that man handling he took. It was... cute. Watching him spend his energy; not that the captain was complaining an hour ago when he was on the bottom and Piers' had him pinned with hold he couldn't break, just before sliding into his lap and showing just how limber that body could be.

Chuckling, the memory sparked more than intended, taking a drag off the Marlboro whilst he crossed the room, handing over the cigarette to an outstretched hand, brought and seated on those full lips as smoke pooled into Piers lungs, heavy lids hooding those hazel oculars, watching through the rising tendrils of smoke. The mattress bowing under Chris' massive weight, aiding the captain by parting limber legs further apart, head against shoulder blades to blow out the smoke through pursed and pouted lips, shifting with the pressure of each demanding touch. Gripping those slim hips, a more seasoned mouth found it's way to the bruises he'd left behind, biting into one hard enough to dimple flesh, and cause the second draw off the stick to borderline on a gasp. Plush lips parted, curling the tip of a moist tongue against teeth and letting the smoke drift out of that fuckable mouth, eyes lulled shut enjoying the burn until an arm hooked itself against the nook his knee, lips following and sucking on his flesh, coaxing legs to do as they were bid, pulling it up so their pelvises came flush, earning a sharp intake a breath. "Going to take my time making you beg, boy." The head of his growing erection rubbed against that abused ring of flesh, which twitched at the press of that mushroom head against him. They'd already done this dance once tonight, no need for lubrication; Piers was a soldier, he could take it. Every veined, hardened inch. Chris would just make sure he took his time.


End file.
